


Handprints

by NeonSouffle



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Asphyxiation, Chrollo is pansexual, Hand Jobs, Heterosexual Phinks, M/M, because its fun to think about, he doesnt care as long as it gets his rocks off tbh, introspective, its really less about sex and more about phinks being a lame nerd, phinks doesnt really know what hes gotten himself into, phinks-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonSouffle/pseuds/NeonSouffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phinks swallows past the knot in his throat, presses his thumb and forefinger slightly harder against where he knows Chrollo's carotid artery lies (of course he knows, he tears them out daily; the scent of blood thick and cloying at the back of his throat, slick red scorching his palms), dark eyes burning holes into his all the while. </p><p>A sixty second look into the physical relationship between Chrollo and Phinks, wherein Phinks is confused and heterosexual but down to help a brother out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handprints

The position that Phinks currently finds himself in was something slightly left of his comprehension, despite the detailed conversation he had had with Chrollo immediately prior. The soft skin of his boss' neck yielding beneath his damp palm and fingers still doesn't quite seem conceivable, and the dark, burning gaze Chrollo levels at him doesn't help to lend any realism to the situation.

Phinks has never been on the receiving end of such a look from the young leader of the Genei Ryodan and finds it quite hard to process when face to face with it, especially as the younger man drags in short, stuttering breaths. In fact, it would be prudent to enunciate just how very _weird_ seeing his leader out of breath and prone beneath him is. And all due to his nervous fingers round his neck. Phinks loosens his grip slightly, hyper-aware of his strength, and despite what he _knows_ is deceptive frailty on the part of the young man beneath him, he can't help but worry that maybe his grip is a little _too_ tight, his strength just a little too unpredictable.

"Phinks."

It's soft and ragged, and the resulting glare reminds him that if Chrollo didn't trust him to a fault, even though he'd explicitly stated that he _did_ less than ten minutes prior, none of this would be occurring. And really it would be an insult to the head spider if Phinks treated him like some sort of porcelain doll, suspect to break at any moment (despite the fact that he's just _laying_ there and he's certainly _fair_ enough).

Slowly his fingers re-tighten, and then some. Phinks swallows past the knot in his throat, presses his thumb and forefinger slightly harder against where he knows Chrollo's carotid artery lies (of course he knows, he tears them out daily; the scent of blood thick and cloying at the back of his throat, slick red scorching his palms), dark eyes burning holes into his all the while. The blond swallows thickly a second time as Chrollo's eyes flutter closed, black lashes starkly contrasting against his pale cheeks, the faintest hint of pink blooming beneath his skin (strands of hair are obscuring his tattoo, and Phinks discovers he has the oddest desire to brush them away; he refrains). The blond is once again struck by just how handsome the younger man is; wonders at how he never really noticed before.

Chrollo arches beneath him and Phinks isn't particularly surprised to feel the hot, insistent prodding of an erection against the muscles of his lower stomach, he had been warned, after all, and so he adjusts himself atop the head spider, pressing a thigh up between his legs. Chrollo releases a short, choked breath, hips rolling into the pressure the blond exerts, slim fingers wrapping loosely around the wrist of Phinks' restraining arm. More to hold him in place than a form of resistance. His opposite hand curls around Phinks' left bicep, fingers cinching the material of his track suit (it pulls against his skin, the dampness of his sweat catching stickily at the thin fabric). He can feel the impression of a small round object, between Chrollo's palm and the flesh of his wrist.

Phinks wasn't really sure what to make of it when Chrollo had asked him to do this for him, plucking the spider coin from his front pocket and closing his fingers around it securely.

"This will be easier than having a safe word." he had said, in means of explanation; Chrollo has always been infuriatingly vague in some ways, but startlingly transparent in others. Phinks half expects to hear that coin tinkle as it hits stone any moment now. He wonders, somewhere in the back of his mind, if it would land on heads or tails.

Asphyxiation?

It had seemed quite strange to him, at the time, but he isn't one to judge, and the feeling of his leader pressed hot and firm against the line of his body is honestly more distracting than he would care to admit to himself most days. He wonders briefly if they shouldn't have taken this to one of the other rooms of the abandoned hotel the spiders have been hiding out in for a week, instead of the open hall that they've been holding their meetings in. His fingers twitch, and he can feel the tendons in Chrollo's neck straining against his grip as his head tilts back to rest against the ground, hips canting sharply against his thigh, trembling. It's so minute, he almost doesn't notice.

(There's nothing for it, he decides.)

The spider head's pulse flutters against his fingers, pounding hard and fast, the path of his blood cut short. It's a reminder that what he holds by the neck is in fact a living being and not an ethereal one. Phinks allows his grip to loosen for a moment, for Chrollo to suck in a ragged breath past the surely dizzying rush of blood to his head, before he cinches ever tighter. He's mindful of his strength, mindful that he uses these rough, calloused hands to snap necks like matchsticks and cleave heads from shoulders. It would be so easy to clench his fist and tear Chrollo's throat out. He won't. Although the implications of what they're doing is enough to send a surprising jolt of cold fire through his gut and tingling down his spine, coiling viciously in the pit of his stomach.

(He does his best to ignore it.)

Phinks lowers his free hand to grasp Chrollo's hip, thumb pressing into the sharp curve of his pelvis, the fabric of his tracksuit straining between the movement and the young boss' iron grip upon it. It's a silent inquiry, and when obsidian eyes slit open to gaze at him, the somewhat dazed look and releasing of pale fingers is enough of an answer.

The blond lifts himself enough to slide his hand between their bodies and pushes the younger man's shirt up and out of the way. He undoes Chrollo's pants deftly and, after less than a moment's hesitation (Chrollo isn't wearing underwear, and he finds that he isn't entirely surprised), grasps his leader's erection. The younger man's cock is hot and heavy against his palm, and he gives him a few, experimental tugs to orient himself. It isn't entirely unlike handling his own erection, he finds, though the angle is different (and he is explicitly aware that this is, in fact, not his cock).

Chrollo's eyes slide shut once more, and he presses his hips up, releasing a shaky breath through his nose as best he can given the situation, and Phinks give him a bit of leeway once more. He isn't really sure how long its safe to deny him the oxygen rich blood, but he'd rather be safe than sorry.

(He assumes this is more about the act than the effects, anyway.)

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly an introspective look at Phinks' feelings, less about the actual porn, sorry. I tried to write farther into the encounter but it didn't come as easily as the beginning, so I stopped here. You can't force good porn, friends. :V
> 
> I didn't stick completely to the letter of how asphyxiation should be safely performed because nen users are basically super-humans and I'm sure a little extra tracheal pressure wouldn't be too big of a deal, but here is the obligatory reminder that asphyxiation can be dangerous if you don't know what you're doing/aren't careful! 
> 
> I was gonna post this on valentine's day because what better day to post text-heavy pseudo-porn but I feel like I'm about to lose the nerve to post it so here it is.


End file.
